A long room, down the centre of which ran a row of couches; on either
side were the dressing-rooms, curtained off from the main apartment by
curtains of dark Oriental blue, bordered with dull red. In the large
bay window stood the dressing-tables and mirrors.
Mrs Ray Jefferson had it all to herself, as, wrapped in an enormous
sheet of Turkish towelling, she emerged from the processes of shampooing
and douche. She laid herself down on one of the couches, and the
attendant, Morrison, threw another Turkish wrap over her, and left her
to the enjoyment of the coffee she had ordered, and which was placed on
one of the numerous small tables scattered about.
According to all rules of the baths, she should have rested calmly and
patiently on that couch, until such time as she was cool enough to don
her ordinary attire, but the little American, was of a restless and
impatient disposition, and of all things hated to be inactive.
The attendant had scarcely left the room before she raised herself to a
sitting position, and took a survey of her appearance in one of the
mirrors. It did not appear to be very satisfactory. She turned
abruptly away and reached some magazines from an adjoining table. Armed
with these she once more sought her couch, and after tossing two or
three contemptuously aside, she at last seemed to find one periodical
that interested her. She grew so absorbed in its contents, that she
scarcely heard the entrance of the beautiful woman who had so interested
her, and who now took the next couch to her own, and lay down in an
attitude of indolent grace that was quite in keeping with her
appearance.
"You seem interested," she remarked, as she glanced at the absorbed face
of her neighbour.
Mrs Jefferson looked up sharply. "Well," she said, turning the
magazine round to read its title. "This is about the queerest story I
ever read. I wish people wouldn't write improbabilities that no one can
swallow."
"The question is rather what is an improbability?" answered her
companion. "It is only a matter of the capacity of the age to receive
what is new. A few years ago electricity was improbable, yet look at
the telegraph and the telephone. Still further back, who would have
believed that railways would exist above ground and under ground, and
mock at the difficulties of rivers and mountains? What have you
discovered strange enough to be called `improbable'?"
"Oh! it's a story of a man who gets out of his own body and does all
sorts of queer things, and then goes back to it again, just when he
pleases. Finally, he falls in love with a woman as queer as himself,
and finding he has a rival, he just gets rid of him by force of
will-power. However, the day they are to be married, the woman is found
dead in her bed. It appears that she also could get out of her body
when she felt inclined, but she did it once too often, and couldn't get
back in time, so they buried her, at least they buried one of her
bodies; as far as I can make out she had _two_."
"And you think that improbable?" questioned the stranger calmly.
Her beautiful deep eyes were looking straight into the flushed excited
face beside her. Mrs Ray Jefferson met their gaze, and was conscious
of an odd little unaccountable thrill.
"Certainly I do," she said. "Who could believe that anyone can jump in
or out of their skin just as the fancy takes them?"
The stranger's beautiful lips grew scornful. "Oh!" she said, "if you
like to put the subject in that light, it may well look ridiculous and
impossible. Ignorance is always more or less arrogant. It is man's
habit to fancy that all creation was made for him. There are few things
of which he is so utterly ignorant, and of which he thinks so little, as
that mystery of _himself_ incarnated in the temporary prison-house of
flesh and blood. Did he once realise what he might be--did he ever
raise his eyes from the glow-worm light of earth to the stupendous
glories of the sun of wisdom, he would know better than to cavil at what
you call `improbable.' For in nature all things are possible, but man
has neither time nor patience to trace out their mysteries, or seek in
their development the key to those mysteries."
"Gracious sakes," muttered Mrs Jefferson to herself in alarm. "I'm
sure she's a Rosicrucian or something of that sort. It's interesting,
but uncanny. I'm quite out of my depth. I don't know what she means.
Do you really mean to say," she added aloud, "that this story might be
true; that you have two bodies and can slip from one to the other?"
A dark frown crept over the beautiful face. "You talk as foolishly as a
child," she said with contempt. "You know nothing of the subject you
are discussing, therefore anything I might say would sound
incomprehensible. The grossness of the flesh stifles and kills the
subtle workings of the spirit. To you life is only a pleasure ground,
and the more your own personal satisfaction is obtainable, the more you
cling to its spurious enjoyments. If you once cut yourself adrift from
such follies, your eyes would be opened, your senses quickened, and you
would recognise possibilities and marvels that now are no more to you
than sunlight to the blind worm that burrows in the ground." She
stretched out her hand and took the book from the passive hand of her
astounded companion, and glanced rapidly over its pages.
"`Light in Darkness.' Ah, truly it is needed," she said, her eyes
kindling, her face glowing, until her beauty seemed more than mortal.
"But we shall never reach it till we learn to master the senses, to cut
the chains of worldly prejudice and conventionalism. They are bold
teachers, these," and she tossed the magazine back to the still silent
critic of its contents. "You would do well," she said, "to make
yourself acquainted with some of these subjects. I think you would find
them more interesting than ball-rooms and Paris toilettes."
Mrs Jefferson recovered her tongue at that slight to her beloved
vanities.
"Tastes differ," she said coolly. "I'm very well content with the world
as it is and with myself as I am. I don't believe any good ever comes
of prying into subjects we're not intended to know anything about."
"I might ask you," said the stranger, with visible contempt, "how you
are so surely convinced of what we are intended to know, and what not?
There is no hard and fast rule laid down for us that I am aware of."
"Oh!" stammered Mrs Jefferson, with some confusion, "I'm sure the Bible
says that somewhere. `Thus far shalt thou go and no further,' you know.
It is arrogant to attempt to penetrate the mysteries of the other
world. When we go there we shall know them soon enough."
"How glibly you nineteenth-century Christians talk of the `other
world,'" cried the beautiful woman, with contempt. She tossed back the
weight of her rich hair and sat up, looking like an inspired prophetess.
"Yet you acknowledge you know nothing of it. Your priests cannot
explain it, so they take refuge in the plea that inquiry is
presumptuous. Science cannot explain it. Reason falters at the
threshold before the stumbling-block of its long-cherished ignorance
whose only legacy has been Fear. And it is all because you live in
falsehood--because you are false to your _inner_ life, and think only of
the outer; because you are all in chains of superstition--of worldly
bondage, of family prejudices, and, above all, of self-delusion."
"Have you come to preach to us, then?" asked the little American
superciliously. "There is little use in decrying a private or national
disease unless you are provided with a remedy."
"If an angel from Heaven came down to preach you would not believe!"
said the stranger, growing suddenly calm as she sank back on her pillow.
"No, I have no mission. I am only one who has looked out on life and
learnt its bitter truths, and seen its vanity and folly repeated, with
scarce a variation, in countless human lives."
"Well," said the American, "the fact of that repetition seems rather as
if it were a law of human lives, don't it? We find ourselves in this
world, and we must do as others do, and live as others live. Of course,
I've read of people giving up all sorts of pleasures and comforts in
this life for sake of another, but to me it seems only a mild form of
madness. For instance, there's this new sect that's sprung up, who are
going to revolutionise all creation--well, I've read heaps of their
books, I've spoken even to some of their members, but I confess
Theosophy seems as much of a jumble as any other creed. Look at their
priests, their _yogis_, and _chelas_, and such-like humbugs! They say
their Buddha is as divine as our Christ. Maybe he is--to them! But
what strikes me is the absurdity of trying to get into another life
while one has to live this. Fasting and sitting under a tree, and
starving out all fleshly desires and impulses until the human body,
instead of being handsome and muscular as Nature intended it to be,
becomes a withered skeleton, subsisting on a few beans and a cup of
water. Why, anybody could see visions and dream dreams, that lived a
life like that even for a year! But I want to know what's the good of
it? I suppose if we get out of our natural life before our time, our
place can't be ready for us in our next Karma, or whatever they call it.
So we would martyrise ourselves to no purpose. These sort of people
seem to me to be trying to steal a march over others, wanting to get a
stage further on the road before the natural term of earth-life is over.
A nice world this would be if we were all at that game."
"You have certainly read to some purpose," said the stranger ironically.
"It is interesting to hear the deepest philosophy that has ever
occupied the human mind summed up and dismissed as ridiculous. Let me,
however, first point out a few mistakes in your judgment of this new
`sect' as you call it. In the first place it is not a sect in the
common acceptation of the word, but rather a universal philosophy
embracing all creeds, ranks, and denominations of men. It lays not the
slightest stress on any of its followers martyrising their bodies as you
so glibly describe. You might just as well say that the Christian
religion is only carried out by monks and nuns, because certain
enthusiasts prefer to cut themselves adrift from the vanities of life.
In all ages and in all religions there have been such enthusiasts. Even
the prophets in your own Bible were men of this description, living in
caves, subsisting only on the fruits and seeds of the earth, and giving
themselves up to visions and dreams. What else have your canonised
Saints done? Yet they are worshipped by a vast community of
_apparently_ sensible beings, as holy. It only shows that there are
certain minds capable of penetrating the uselessness of a purely worldly
existence, and finding it too hard to live a double life, that is to
say, spiritual and material (a life only possible to the modern clergy),
they seek refuge in seclusion and leave that outer life to those whom it
satisfies and suits. As to the selfishness of such isolation, that is a
matter no alien mind can quite determine, for the greatest Example of
the religious life was strangely indifferent to human ties, nor ever
displayed the weakness of human affection for earthly relatives, thus
seeming to show that it is no sin to sacrifice earthly ties for a higher
and holier existence. The disciples of the great Brotherhood are
voluntary enthusiasts, free from the claims of human relationship, and
offering themselves simply _as_ disciples. They wrong no one by their
choice. As for your last remark about endeavouring to steal a march on
our fellow-men by seeking a higher place in the next state of existence,
before we have done with this, I can only ask you to study something of
the laws and doctrines of theosophical philosophy before deciding such
an event is possible."
"Do you know much about them?" asked Mrs Jefferson curiously.
"I know that they teach man the truest sense of his own responsibility.
They prove to him an inexorable law by which he may lift himself from
the level of the brute to the majesty of the God he now blindly
worships."
"But so does Christianity," exclaimed Mrs Jefferson astounded.
For the first time the stranger laughed.
"And is not true Christianity the highest and purest philosophy?" she
said. "Only it is preached--not practised. Can you tell me that a
single Christian land in this nineteenth century era is one whit purer
or better in its spiritual or moral character than was Jerusalem a
thousand years ago? Does it influence commerce, trade, governments,
laws--even civilisation? If it did, not one rule or law that binds the
rotten fabric of civilised life together would stand for a single
moment. Why? Because no one would lie; no one would cheat; no one
would murder, either wholesale because of country prejudices, or retail
because of private animosities. Everyone would be honest, charitable,
merciful, and unselfish. You cling to a Faith that is almost barren of
good works. You propagate it among ignorant savages whom you first rob
of their lands, and then convert with guns and brandy bottles. How much
of the reception of Christianity is due to the _latter_ I will leave to
the revelations of the first honest missionary whose report is not
indebted to his income from the Society, a prospective pension, and his
own personal weakness for the laudation of his fellow men. Show me a
human being who can be honest to a conviction in the face of scorn and
mockery, who never sought his _own_ interest in the profession he
embraced, but only the good of others for whom that profession was
ostensibly established; who would speak truth in the Courts of Law, the
House of Legislature, and the _salons_ of Society; who would write--not
for empty praise but from conviction--and follow art simply and purely
to ennoble the mind, not pander to the lust of the eye and the greed of
gold. Show me such men and such a nation, and I will acknowledge
_there_ Christianity has found its seat and fulfilled the purpose of its
founder!"
"Oh," said the American, shrugging her shoulders with contempt, "of
course, you are talking arrant nonsense! The thing's impossible. The
world can't be turned into a monastery, and as long as people live they
will always be overreaching each other, and deceiving each other. It's
not possible to be perfectly honest, or perfectly truthful."
"Then," said the stranger quietly, as she sank back on her cushions, "do
not blame even the poor _Yogi_ under his tree if he has turned away sick
and disgusted with the shams and vileness, and hypocrisies and evil, of
the so-called civilised world. Remember that the country that holds him
and thousands as foolish and superstitious, is the country that your
boasted, civilisation has wrested from his race, and that _your_ example
as a Christian nation is ever before his eyes. Let his conduct
determine it's influence!"
"Well," said Mrs Jefferson, "talk of sermons in stones! Here's one in
baths! I should like to know who you are. Seems to me you know
everything, and have read everything, and seen most everything on the
face of the earth. So few women begin to think of anything serious till
they've forgotten their looks, that you must excuse my calling you an
anomaly. Now do tell me you'll change your mind and join us to-night in
the drawing-room. It's quite as selfish as _Yogaism_ to keep talents
like yours in the background."
The beautiful face grew cold and proud.
"You must pardon me," she said, "if I venture to consider myself the
best judge of what you are pleased to call--talents. They are not of an
order to benefit a hotel drawing-room."
"Oh!" said Mrs Jefferson, feeling somewhat snubbed. "I'm sure people
would be delighted to hear you talk, even if you did rub some of their
pet foibles the wrong way. I've quite enjoyed this morning, I assure
you. You've diverted my thoughts from my own ailments, and stimulated
my digestion. I feel like eating lunch for once. And that reminds me I
must begin to dress. My fringe takes a quarter of an hour to arrange."
She rose from the couch, her Turkish towelling drapery flowing far
behind her small figure. Then she disappeared into her dressing-room.
When she emerged from thence, her fringe artistically curled, her face
becomingly tinged with pearl-powder, her dress and appointments all
combining to give her small person importance, and show a due regard to
the exigencies of fashion, she found the couch which the mysterious
stranger had occupied was vacant. She loitered about in the hope of
seeing her emerge from one of the dressing-boxes, but she was
disappointed, and as the luncheon gong was sounding through the hotel
she reluctantly took her way through the carpeted corridors and turned
into the main entrance, her mind in a curious condition of perplexity
and excitement.